“They’ll pour it for you,” I reassure the beta, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He exhales, visibly relieved.
But Oli still looks like he’s sitting on a bed of nails.
“What’s wrong, alpha?” I circle around the table to check on him. Everything’s in its place—napkin in his lap, silverware untouched—so it’s not a logistics thing. But I can see the tension in his face. He’s trying to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he says, but when his eyes finally meet mine, there’s a heaviness there. Like he’s sad.
It kinda breaks my heart.
“You look worried,” I whisper softly, then lean down. I draw a breath to assure him everything is going to be okay, but my lungs fill with his earthy-mint scent. My body instantly responds before I can stop it, making my skin flash hot. I immediately back up, not wanting to give anyone the wrong impression.
“Oliver,” Myrick says gently, his tone threaded with quiet concern. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Oli doesn’t answer right away. His jaw flexes, and for a long second, he stares down at the table like he’s considering how much to say. Then, voice low and laced with tension, he mutters, “I don’t want to screw this up.”
He doesn’t look at me, but I feel the weight of his words, like they’re meant for all of us.
“I don’t care what those boardroom bastards think of me,” he says. “But if I do something that makes you all look bad? That’s different. I don’t want anyone whispering about your pack because of me.”
There’s something steely in his voice, but also something that wavers beneath the surface.
He exhales, shaking his head. “The last thing I need is for Rhett to lose it because I used the wrong fucking fork or said the wrong thing to the wrong guy.”
“What?” Myrick freezes. “Lose it?” he repeats, like the words don’t make sense in the same sentence as Rhett’s name. “Rhett wouldn’t—he’s not like that.”
Oli looks up, meeting Myrick’s eyes head-on. There’s no challenge in his gaze, just an unwavering kind of caution. “Are you sure?” he asks, quiet and matter-of-fact. “It wouldn't be the first time an alpha snapped because he felt disrespected.” His hazel eyes flick to me. “Especially when omegas are involved.”
My stomach pulls tight, and Myrick looks thrown—like someone flipped a table inside his chest. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that Oli might see Rhett as someone to be feared.
It hadn’t occurred to me either.
But now, seeing the way Oli’s shoulders stay braced, how he’s not even trying to hide the tension in his body—it clicks.
He’s not nervous about the party.
He’s nervous about what happens after.
Myrick clears his throat and reaches across the table. He places his hand on Oli’s, firm but gentle. “Hey,” he says, steady and calm. “There’s no need to worry. Not aboutRhett or the flatware.” He smiles but it looks tight. “Just relax and have fun,” he says like it’s that simple. “And don’t worry about the rest. It’s all bullshit created by people who get off on feeling superior for the dumbest reasons.”
Oli’s gaze shifts back to me, and I nod in agreement. “He’s right. It’s all bullshit.”
That seems to ease some of the tension in Oli’s shoulders, but only slightly. There’s still something heavy sitting in his expression—like he’s holding something back or he knows something I don’t.
Something about Rhett.
A swift chill cuts through me, but I push it aside. Rhett isn’t like that. He’s never been anything but loving with me. Still, the weight in Oli’s gaze lingers long after he looks away.
“Listen to me, Oli.” Myrick shifts beside him, his voice dropping to draw us all in. “Walk in there, look down your nose at everyone like they’re the ones playing catch-up, and you’ll blend in perfectly.”
“The one percent really fucking suck,” Oli mutters, his voice low and bitter.
“We do,” Myrick says without missing a beat.
I grimace, realizing that Rhett and Myrickarea part of this weird, rich world. It’s just that neither one of them act like it…as far as I know.
“Just remember,” Myrick continues, “show no mercy, because they’ll show you none.”
Oli doesn’t respond right away. His jaw is tight, eyes steady and faraway, like he’s bracing himself for something worse than dinner.
